


happy returns

by wagamiller



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Avengers Tower, Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie) Spoilers, Birthday, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Bucky Barnes Remembers, Bucky Barnes Returns, Don't Examine This Too Closely, Fourth of July, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-04
Updated: 2015-07-04
Packaged: 2018-04-07 16:31:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4270206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wagamiller/pseuds/wagamiller
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There’s one slight problem with Steve’s date of birth - hardly anybody thinks it’s real.</p><p> <i>"Look, I get that it would have been good publicity back in the day,” Sam says earnestly. “But the war’s done, Steve. You don’t have to keep up the charade.”</i></p><p>  <i>“Ok,” Steve says, banging his fist on top of the rail, “for the last time, today is my <b>actual</b> birthday."</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	happy returns

**Author's Note:**

> It’s Steve Rogers’ Birthday! Also, a nation or something. Apparently. But STEVE. 
> 
> This is gen, but could be seen as Steve/Bucky pre-slash if you're so inclined.
> 
> I don’t usually write for this fandom, like ever. But this came to me this morning while on a run and it was too fun to ignore. It was entirely written this afternoon so it’s pretty rough. I could have polished it up some more but that takes time and it’d ruin the whole 4th July thing I’ve got going on…
> 
> Disclaimer: Not my characters, etc.

It’s all Pepper’s fault, really.

If she wasn’t so damn organised, no-one would have known.

As it is, Steve barely makes it through the door of the penthouse at Avengers Tower before Pepper rushes over to present him with a Birthday Card and a peck on the cheek.

“How’d you know?” he stammers, a little taken aback.

Pepper smiles and taps her phone.

“You have reminders for everything in there?” 

“Only the things that matter,” she tells him warmly, making him blush. “Happy Birthday.”

He doesn’t tell her that that’s the first Birthday greeting he’s had since coming out of the ice, but there’s a softness to Pepper’s smile that make him think she might know anyway.

And then Tony swoops in, of course.

“Wait a second,” he booms, loud enough to catch the attention of almost everyone in the room. “ _Captain America_  was born on the 4th of July?!”

Things just go downhill from there, really.

 

* * *

 

“It is just a strange coincidence,” Steve explains, for what feels like the thousandth time since his arrival at Tony’s 4th July party, this time to Rhodey and Maria. 

“No. No way,” Tony scoffs, waving a hand in disbelief and turning to the others. “Right?”

“Captain America was born on 4th July,” Rhodes repeats, a smile playing around his lips. “You know what? That’s fantastic.” He nods his head, decided. “I actually love that.”

“No, no, it’s not real!” Tony whines, shoving Rhodes with his elbow. “C’mon, it’s too good to be true!” He turns to Maria, pleading. “Hill? Don’t let me down here.”

Maria cocks her head, considering Steve.

“4th July?” she asks, her face an unreadable mask.

Steve nods, calmly holding her gaze while experiencing a vivid and highly unpleasant flashback of the one and only time they played poker. (Maria had been delighted to find that Captain America was a card shark, and even more delighted to wait until he’d cleared everyone else out before unleashing her considerable skills on him. He’d lost the contents of his wallet and then his shirt before they’d finally called it a night.)

“Happy Birthday,” she says, at last.

Steve lets out a breath and smiles back at her. “Thanks, Maria.”

“Oh, come on!” Tony throws his hands up, disgusted. 

 

 

* * *

 

Clint’s at home with his family, but it doesn’t stop him weighing in.

“Ha! Clint’s with me,” Tony crows, waving his phone around as if Steve could possibly read the tiny text from this distance. “He calls bullshit on your birthday, Cap.”

“Of course he does.” Steve rolls his eyes. 

“He wants to know if it’s just your official Birthday, like the Queen of England?” Tony announces, reading the text aloud. He turns to Steve, eyes narrowing. “Is that what it is? Do you have two birthdays?!”

“Just one,” Steve says, holding up his middle finger to demonstrate.

“Well that’s rude,” Tony says, snapping a picture to send to Barton.

Steve groans, sipping his drink and wishing Thor was here with that hip flask of killer Asgardian stuff to actually take the edge off.

 

* * *

The party’s in full swing, and Steve’s got to admit, he’s kind of enjoying himself.

There’s good food and good people, the guest list so small that for once he actually knows everyone by name. There’s good music too - songs he knows and some he doesn’t ( _shazam_  takes care of that. Man, he loves that app).

Also, Tony’s finally run out of people to ask about the birthday thing, which really helps.

Steve’s standing on the mezzanine level, snatches of laughter drifting up to him from the main room below. 

All in all, he’s feeling pretty good.

Which is why he’s kind of thrown when Sam appears beside him, looking unaccountably serious for a man who’s wearing a pair of American flag sunglasses on his head.

“You don’t owe them anything, you know,” Sam says quietly, stopping beside him and leaning on the railing, mirroring his posture.

“Who?” Steve asks, looking at his assembled friends. “I kind of do–”

“Not them. The Army,” Sam supplies, shaking his head sadly. “You’re not their soldier anymore, Steve.”

“I know that,” Steve answers slowly, trying to muddle his way through the conversation without any idea of where it’s going. “Hey, I was twenty two minutes late to the party today. That’s less regimented, right? Like you said?”

Sam huffs a quiet laugh. “If you counted out the minutes until an appropriate level of lateness Steve, that’s not exactly what I meant.”

“Well, I’m getting there,” Steve says defensively, shrugging. 

“Yeah,” Sam agrees, turning his head to check there’s still nobody up here with them. “But this birthday thing, Steve, c’mon–”

“Oh man, not you too,” Steve complains, hanging his head.

“Look, I get that it would have been good publicity back in the day,” Sam goes on earnestly, “but the war’s done, Steve. You don’t have to keep up the charade.”

“Ok,” Steve says, banging his fist on top of the rail, “for the last time, today is my _actual_ birthday.”

Sam just looks at him with that steady tell-me-when-you’re-ready look, the one that Steve can’t resist. Except now of course, when he’s already telling the truth.

He stalks away, leaving Sam behind.

 

* * *

 

Natasha corners him by the buffet table, steering him by the elbow into the kitchenette in the corner.

“What?” Steve asks thickly, through a mouthful of chips. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” she says, sidling right up beside him and leaning her hip against the worktop, blinking owlishly up at him. “Just … you can tell me, y’know. When it really is.”

“When what really is?” 

“Your birthday,” she supplies, smiling slyly at him. 

“Today,” he snaps, dropping his plate of food heavily on the side. “It’s today!”

“Keep it to yourself, then,” Natasha shrugs, stealing a chip from his abandoned plate and crunching it obnoxiously loud. “Fine.”

“That’s it. Come with me.” Steve grabs Natasha’s hand, hauling her out of the kitchen. “Listen up,” he calls, loud enough to get everyone’s attention. “Today is my birthday, ok? Not my fake birthday, not my official birthday, just my Birthday!”

“If you say so,” Nat mutters from behind him, in an irritatingly sweet voice.

Steve says her name slowly, dropping her hand and raising a finger in warning. Natasha merely shrugs and meanders over to the nearest ice bucket, plucking out a beer and raising it in a toast.

“Here’s to the Birthday Boy,” she says, twisting off the cap before adding, just loud enough for Steve, “apparently.”

“FRIDAY, can you please locate my Birth Certificate,” Steve calls, addressing the ever-present AI. “Let’s settle this.”

“Wait, wait, how do we know it’s not a forgery?” Tony pipes up at once, jumping to his feet. 

“Oh for–” Steve huffs, throwing his hands up. “I give up.”

 

* * *

 

Steve’s sprawled across the couch, too full and sleepy to do much else, when it happens.

“Boss.” The smooth voice of FRIDAY cuts across the room, lowering the music to a barely audible hum. “There’s a situation downstairs.”

“What’s up?” Tony asks lightly, not moving from his spot on the other couch, one arm stretched out along the back behind Pepper.

“It seems we have a walk-in.”

Tony puts his drink down at that. “A what?” 

“A walk-in.”

Steve sits forward, catching Natasha’s eye. She’s on her feet already, readier than any of them.

“Well, tell them to walk  _out_ ,” Tony says, even as he stands up.

“That’s not quite how it works.”

“I know how it works, FRIDAY. But this isn’t the CIA. We don’t do walk-ins.”

“Nevertheless we appear to have one, boss.”

“Show me.”

All eyes in the room turn at once to the largest white wall, where a stream of live security footage from the lobby is now being projected, above the projection of Steve’s birth certificate from earlier.

Steve stands up, walking towards the wall, eyes fixed on the video.

There’s a man directly in the centre of the atrium, hands held casually by his sides, his face obscured by a sweep of his long dark hair. 

Steve reels, seized by something rare and yet familiar, a sensation he hasn’t felt since Erskine’s formula did it’s work. 

He realises, dimly, what it is - he feels _faint._

“Holy shit.”

Bucky moves moves slowly, looking directly up at the camera, and just like that, everyone catches up.

For once, nobody makes a joke about Steve cursing.

 

 

* * *

 

Steve sprints to the elevator without a word, Sam and Natasha just managing to slip in beside him before the doors close. It isn’t until Natasha silently takes the beer out of his hand and places it on the floor that Steve even realises he was still holding it.

The elevator moves so fast that Steve’s ears pop. But still, even as he watches the numbers floors tick down to the lobby, it’s not fucking fast enough. He drums his fingers against his leg impatiently, watching the numbered floors tick down to the lobby, until Natasha takes his hand in her cool one and gives it a squeeze, stopping the motion.

The elevator finally dings it’s arrival, the cheerful note out of place in the tense silence.

Steve steps out first, heart in his mouth.

There are guards everywhere in the lobby, numerous laser sights trained on the man they’re surrounding.

Bucky just stands there silently, the eye of the storm.

Steve’s swallows, his throat thick. One wave of his hand and the laser sights disappear, the guards stepping back into a loose circle, opening a path for Steve. He steps forward cautiously, feeling Nat and Sam moves at his side, flanking him.

Bucky’s hair is long still, and it’s a little unkempt, but he doesn’t look too bad. His clothes are clean, and his eyes seem clearer than they were on the helicarrier all those months ago, though just as wary. They settle on Steve, watching his approach without a flicker of emotion. Except.  _Oh._  Steve’s stomach turns over. There is a flicker. It’s gone in a flash, but Steve sees it. Fear. Guilt. And under it all,  _hope._

An answering surge of it flares in Steve’s own chest, the single warmest thing he’s felt since the ice. 

“Hey,” he says quietly, stopping in front of Bucky, making sure not to crowd him.

“Hey,” Bucky replies, in a voice that’s hoarse from disuse.

“I’m–” Steve rocks on his heels, suddenly nervous. “I’m really glad you’re here.”

“It’s your Birthday,” Bucky says, as though that answers everything.

It takes everything Steve’s got to stay standing.

“Yeah,” Steve agrees, letting out a sound caught between a sob and a laugh. He can’t resist - he flicks a look over his shoulder, at Natasha and Sam’s tense faces. “It’s my birthday."

Sam groans. Natasha tries to fight down a smile, and fails.

“You remembered?” Steve asks, turning back to face Bucky with a tentative smile.

“Yeah.” Bucky offers up a half-smile, a fleeting thing, the ghost of something Steve used to know as well as he knows his own face. “I remembered.”

 

* * *

 

Later, when they’ve established that yes, Bucky’s staying, and yes, he’s hungry, and yes, even though the scanner at the door screeches its disapproval, he will be keeping his knives thank you very much, Steve finds himself sitting on the roof of Avengers Tower, eating hot dogs with his best friend in the whole world. 

Not a bad birthday, all told.

Everyone’s inside, save for Natasha, who is standing unobtrusively by the door, watching them. She’d announced her presence with more noise than necessary, so as not to startle Bucky, Steve had realised, with a rush of gratitude. He glances over at her now, but she’s watching the skyline, giving them the illusion of privacy. 

Steve sits back in his chair, sneaking another glance at Bucky.

He’s still eating, fast enough and enthusiastically enough that Steve’s stomach drops, momentarily distracted by the thought of when he last ate. It’s a rabbit hole Steve could fall down easily - where has he been, has he been eating, has he been warm, but Steve stops himself, shutting off the thought. 

He’s here now. 

He’s safe now.

And yeah, he’s eating now. Like, a lot. God, Steve had almost forgotten how much Bucky could eat whenever enough food was available, and how disgustingly fast he could eat it. Steve feels a bit like his heart might burst, overwhelmed with joy at the simple fact that Bucky’s here to remind him.

He turns back to the horizon, hiding his smile with a swig of his drink.

“I didn’t get you a gift,” Bucky says suddenly, mouth still full.

“Yeah, you did,” Steve says quietly. “You really did.”

The late afternoon sun glints off the rooftops, making the city sparkle.

“You’re still a sap, then.”

Steve smiles. “Only when it comes to you.”

“I’m not …” Bucky falters, and Steve looks over at him. He’s watching Steve warily, brows drawn in. “I’m not ok,” he goes on, awkwardly, “yet. Not by a long shot.”

“I didn’t expect you to be,” Steve says quickly, and some of the tension drains from Bucky’s shoulders. Steve flicks his eyes back to the skyline and he adds quietly, “I’m not really ok, either.”

“I think I will be though,” Bucky goes on, a devastating edge of hope in his voice. “In the end.”

Steve closes his eyes until the tears there disappear. “Me too.”

They sit in silence for a while, watching the city.

“Hey, Steve?”

“Yeah, Buck?”

“Why is your Birth certificate projected on the wall in there?”

Steve hears Natasha give a little laugh from her spot in the corner.

“It’s a long story.”

“I’ve got time,” Bucky says quietly, settling back into his chair and closing his eyes. “Tell me everything.”

 


End file.
